


Tall, Blonde, and Salty

by iridescentAI



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Captain Ennoshita Chikara, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, M/M, Mentioned Haiba Lev, Mentioned Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, POV Second Person, implied kagehina, this is not a (y/n) kind of fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 13:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentAI/pseuds/iridescentAI
Summary: You…Well.Let's just say, you've known about Tsukishima Kei for a long time.-  -  -And you may or may not have a giant crush on him.





	Tall, Blonde, and Salty

**Author's Note:**

> For clarification: you're an unnamed first year on the volleyball team at an unnamed school, and you've been inspired to be a middle blocker by none other than Tsukishima Kei.
> 
> And as much as it pains me, because he's high key one of my fav Haikyuu babies, pretend Yamaguchi doesn't exist in this fic. It's easier that way :(
> 
> (A/N): WAIT WAIT I wrote this as if Kuroo is only a year older than Tsukishima??? WHOOPS

You…

 

Well.

 

Let's just say, you've known about Tsukishima Kei for a long time.

 

He's in the year above you, and he plays for Karasuno as a middle blocker.

 

You know this.

 

You know this because in your last year of junior high you were at that match against Shiratorizawa, and _everyone_ saw that block.

 

_Everyone._

 

It might as well have been in the news the next day.

 

It may or may not be the reason that you threw yourself into conditioning over the summer, promising yourself you'd jump higher, receive better-

 

 _Anything_ that might get you on the same level as those burning amber eyes.

 

In high school, your teammates are incredible. For awhile, it's them that drive you to keep improving, not the flashes of a tight lipped sneer and bandaged fingers that pass through your mind a little too often. For awhile, you forget why you've been so excited to get on the court.

 

Then comes the start of the season.

 

Your coach is honestly surprised when your school is invited to a training camp.

 

You can't imagine why, when your teammates shine brighter than anything you've ever seen.

 

The first couple matches aren't bad, really. These other teams are strong, but so is yours. The other first years shake with frantic energy, as if their introduction to the court is a secret weapon the team is waiting to uncap. You can't help but pick up on the buzz they're giving off, and soon you're shaking too.

 

Yeah, the first matches weren't bad.

 

When you go up against Nekoma, you're almost immediately crushed under the skill of a well oiled machine. Your team is creaky at best, compared to them.

 

You hate diving drills, but it's when you're pushing up from your latest nosedive that you see him.

 

And _hell_ , he's taller than you thought he was.

 

Tsukishima Kei’s blocking reach is 325 centimeters.

 

You know this.

 

You spent a long time making sure yours wasn't laughable in comparison. It's nowhere _near_ his, but… it's decent.

 

You'll never let anyone know about the odd curiosity you hold for the (really extremely) tall blond.

 

( _It's a crush_ , _dimwit,_ your mind mutters back to you, but you ignore _that_ even more)

 

As far as you know, your teammates don't even know who Tsukishima _is_ , so you're pretty sure you're safe.

 

At least, you thought you were, until you find out your next match is against Karasuno.

 

Your next match is against Karasuno, and you're on first string.

 

 _And_ your team _really_ does not want another round of diving drills, so you _can't_ mess this up.

 

You hope the buzz of adrenaline is enough to quell the trembling rising from your stomach to the back of your throat. So far you're feeling pretty great, like someone's turned a couple dials and honed in your vision, making everything clear and sharp.

 

So honed, in fact, that the only thing you can see when Karasuno files onto the court is searing gold, boxed in behind black frames.

 

 _Shit-_ is he looking at you?

 

You shake yourself- _it doesn't matter-_ the game will start soon. Your captain is shaking hands with theirs- _of course he was looking at you, you're his opponent-_ and it seems friendly enough when they meet, muscles barely flexing when they grip each other's hands- _you're staring, you're staring, you're staring, get a hold of yourself!_

 

Of course he stands in front of you. You hope the rotation drags you away from the pools of amber before you get caught.

 

There's a bald guy yelling something at your team from the other side of the net, trying to rile you up, you guess, but it's mostly useless talk. Your teammates barely seem ruffled, and honestly, you're kind of confused.

 

You watch listlessly as Tsukishima rolls his eyes, trying not to be too obvious in your staring.

 

You're good at this, detached observing. It's probably why coach put you here in the first place.

 

You hope you don't disappoint him- your coach, not a particular member of Karasuno. Your focus is pretty much latched onto that particular player right now, and you're not sure how helpful that will be in the long run.

 

The match begins with a shriek of a whistle (that kind of hurts your ears) and you shake yourself out of whatever haze you've been under, following the ball as it sails over to your side of the court.

 

Things go well, for the most part.

 

Your team is proud of its defense, and damn if you didn't need it against the freaks on this team.

 

Plus, you manage to keep your focus on the game, not on the willowy blond ( _seriously? Who says willowy?)_ on the other side of the net.

 

Your job seems centered around stopping that stupid quick and catching anything that makes it through before it hits the ground. For a first year, you think you're doing pretty good! After watching the short firecracker and his blue eyed setter for awhile, you've gotten a feel for the rhythm of their exchanges.

 

You mumble a quick tip to your teammate next to you in warning, which turns out to be good because _he's_ the one that receives the next startling spike from the firecracker.

 

That's not uncommon, for you to find an opening and alert your teammates.

 

It happens again, when (by what seems like pure luck and guessing) you find a discrepancy in somebody's footing and shout a warning at the last second to your fellow blocker. It's thanks to you that the spike they'd intended to fool you with- since three aces had stepped up to the plate- hit the ground on Karasuno’s side.

 

It's after that that you first feel eyes on you.

 

It's a full rotation before you figure out whose eyes they are.

 

And they're a familiar shade of gold, staring down at you from a couple inches of height difference.

 

(You can't help that your last growth spurt left you just barely over six feet tall. Maybe the next one will bring you eye to eye. _Maybe_.)

 

Tsukishima's silent- unlike the rest of his team, which chatters and threatens and scolds and shouts. The only thing you get from him is a calculating stare.

 

He's watching you.

 

It shouldn't make you nervous, but it does.

 

(Because he's watching _you_ )

 

(Because _he's_ watching _you_ )

 

You're stuck in that particular spot for an _awful_ long time. Long enough that he figures out where you tend to aim when your setter picks you to spike. Long enough that you're getting tired of bandaged fingers catching the ball before it can leave your palm.

 

Most of the time his yellow gaze is just intense, and meeting it makes your stomach flip in an embarrassing way. You do your best to stare back, but he's pretty obviously unfazed.

 

It's when you figure out he's tracking your eyes that you finally get around him, and your nervous stare turns triumphant when you dump the ball over his shoulder. You land nearly toe to toe with the giant, and you swear to all of the stars that you can feel the heavy pant of his breath on your face.

 

You're surprised that he's winded this early on in the game, but nobody's perfect.

 

If at all possible, his intense glare intensifies, and you're not sure if you're melting or not when you finally step away to rotate positions and those eyes follow you.

 

There's not a speck of brown in those eyes. They're entirely metallic shades of yellow, bronze, gold...

 

It's hard to lose yourself in the tide of the game when you're anchored within sandy shores.

 

( _And jeez, if you would stop writing poetry about some guy's eyes, maybe you could_ )

 

The longer Tsukishima is on the front lines, the more trouble he causes for your team. It feels like a personal attack, because, for whatever reason, you keep finding his eyes on you.

 

Not that you're looking.

 

No.

 

And when he dumps a shot over the edge of the net, barely raising on his toes, and _smirks_ at you-

 

 _That's_ when you know you're screwed.

 

Because right then and there- you can _feel_ it- your cheeks light up with color, blood rushing to your face to make your true feelings known.

 

For a moment, amber eyes widen- just a tad- but the surprise is gone in an instant, replaced with a sly satisfaction.

 

Your teammates are actually _concerned_ about you, because you may be quiet but you're definitely not _shy_ and this is _weird-_ and seemingly unprovoked- coming from you so suddenly. You wave them off, promising it's not overexertion and that you're fine to go on playing.

 

Tsukishima seems immensely amused at the fuss that is raised over the flush in your cheeks. You try not to glare at him or the floor, trying to keep your emotions in check.

 

It's a few more volleys of the ball passing back and forth between them before someone scores a point. At this point, you don't care who scored it, you just want the whistle to blow and get you off the court and out of the reach of those eyes.

 

And apparently out of view of those hands. You can't help but stare at them- you keep battling it out against tape and calloused skin, trying to push the ball to the other side.

 

You notice that for all the skill and intellect Tsukishima seems to possess, he doesn't push back against you very hard. You keep winning those battles.

 

He doesn't seem very amused by _that._

 

He does, however, learn very quickly that a well placed smirk has a _much_ greater effect on you than the glare he'd levelled on you before. He uses that to his advantage, and you honestly don't think your face can get any hotter.

 

One of Karasuno's players actually comments on it, asking you if something's wrong, if you need water. You promise them everything's fine- but you don't miss the chuckle that's muffled behind taped fingers nearby.

 

It's not until you nearly dislocate your shoulder that you get back at him.

 

It's pretty obvious that Tsukishima is tired, so you're a little confused when their setter arcs the ball in his direction- like he's gonna jump up and hit it with the zero power that lies in his already tired, skinny arms.

 

That's when you catch it. It's probably accidental, he _is_ losing steam, but his gaze flicks to the ground, and your body is moving to receive the dump shot before you know what's happening.

 

You literally _throw_ your body at the ground- maybe those diving drills weren't just a punishment after all- and manage to wedge your arm between the ball and the court. By some sheer amount of luck, it flies in the general direction of your teammates.

 

“ _Chance ball!”_

 

The shout tears from you before you're even back on your feet, and it grabs the attention of the blond who stands miles above you.

 

It occurs to you that you're literally lying at his feet, but that doesn't stop the proud grin that rips across your face when he looks down at you.

 

Neither of you have time to linger in the moment, and you're back on your feet in the next second, assisting the ball back over the net. Maybe you imagined it, but did his eyes widen in surprise?

 

Was it just fatigue that tinged those pale cheeks pink?

 

You stand a little taller now, built up by the shouts of encouragement you just received from your teammates. You're less afraid when you meet liquid gold, your own stare level and unwavering.

 

 _Meet me at your best,_ you challenge silently. _See me as a true opponent._

 

It's only two more points before Karasuno takes the first win, and honestly, you've never been more relieved to get off the court.

 

One of your teammates quietly asks you if you're okay, and you assure them you are. You're not entirely convincing, because you choked on the water you were drinking and coughed your way through that assurance, but they nod and leave you be.

 

For whatever _frikkin_ reason, you stand face to face with Tsukishima Kei _again_ when you return to the court. He has the nerve to _grin_ at you, and you take personal offense to how hot your cheeks grow in response.

 

The points fly by, but you're not paying much attention. You're more focused on playing, on defending, on slipping past Karasuno's defense. You're set on doing your best in the (feeble) hopes that it might convince Tsukishima of something.

 

What that _something_ is, you don't really know.

 

Your team's best blocker is tired, and you're vaguely upset that Karasuno's best blocker has managed to recover in the short break between games. When too many points slip past your main man, you're forced to step up, come up with a plan out of nowhere in the hopes of keeping the ball off the ground.

 

You're forced to plant yourself in front of Tsukishima, changing spots with your main blocker in a flash, catching the ball between your hands.

 

You're stuck in place, battling it out for a second, trying to overcome arms that are much longer than yours.

 

You growl something under your breath, something that slips from you in the heat of the moment- a demand for him to _back down._

 

When the ball falls onto your side despite your best efforts, Tsukishima hides a laugh behind long fingers.

 

Before you can step away, you're surprised to hear him respond just as fiercely under his breath.

 

“ _Never._ ”

 

Karasuno wins that game, and consequently the match, but not before Tsukishima has nearly wrung you dry of every defense you thought you had- both physically and emotionally.

 

You decide you hate diving drills, and you let Tsukishima know that by glaring steadily in his direction every time you push yourself back up off the ground. He makes sure you know he's laughing at you, his grin full of mirth and satisfaction.

 

At lunch that day, your team is sufficiently worn out, stumbling gratefully towards water coolers and sandwiches. It's a light lunch because they're headed almost immediately back into practice and matches after this, and no one wants to clean up vomit.

 

The teammates you've made friends with so far drag you towards the other teams. The first years meet and greet, and the upperclassmen introduce their old friends to their new friends.

 

One of your senpais introduces you to Nekoma’s captain, telling you that he's really cool and really smart and that they hang out all the time when he's visiting family in Tokyo. You greet the third year with funny hair with a smile, and he returns it. Before you know it, your group has piled into a circle, and you're listening to a story Kuroo is telling about his childhood friend, Kenma.

 

Kenma’s nearby, playing on some kind of gaming system, but he doesn't seem to be listening.

 

You eat your sandwich and listen closely, enraptured by the story, until your gaze catches on something else.

 

Of course it's Tsukishima. Who else would it be.

 

He doesn't see you. You quickly look back down at your food, refusing to look up again. It's just your luck, though, that Kuroo notices the same thing you do.

 

“Tsukishima!”

 

The blond looks up. You look down.

 

( _Didn't you say you weren't going to look again?_ )

 

Kuroo frantically motions him over to join, and when Tsukishima straight up ignores him the captain gets up and physically drags him over to your group.

 

Great.

 

Tsukishima plants himself on the outside of the circle, holding his water bottle in front of him like he's forgotten what to do with it, momentarily shell shocked. Kuroo plops back down and resumes his story, gesturing over to Kenma like he'd never left off.

 

You are not looking. You're not.

 

Except you can feel golden eyes on you again.

 

You don't notice you're curling away until you bump into Kenma, who manages to tear his (equally as yellow) eyes from the screen of his gaming console. With a mumbled apology you stand up, abruptly drawing the attention of the circle to you.

 

Most of their gazes leave you when it becomes obvious you're only throwing out your trash.

 

Most of them.

 

Kuroo’s watching you, which you think is a little weird, and Tsukishima's watching you, which you're beginning to expect by now.

 

It's only when Kuroo’s eyes find Tsukishima's (which are still on you) that you know you're screwed.

 

Again.

 

As it turns out, you're absolutely correct about this, because the next day- after another morning of staring and blushing and competing against a _stupidly_ tall block- you're in the same lunch group as before.

 

This time it's some chatterbox from Fukurodani that are leading the conversation, and you're vaguely following along. Your lack of concentration lets your attention be snagged by  Kuroo’s sudden movement, and he detaches from the pack once again, just like the day before.

 

Just like the day before, he grabs Tsukishima and manhandles him over to the group.

 

But instead of depositing him on the outskirts, Kuroo makes sure to plop the blond _right_ next to you.

 

Perfect. You should've never made friends with Kuroo's friends. You take back everything you've ever thought about Kuroo being cool.

 

Tsukishima is blessedly silent, so you sulk and tear into another slice of watermelon.

 

You're definitely not focused on the way his knees bump against yours- because his legs are _stupid_ long and _stupid_ pale, and you can't help noticing the stark contrast of the black kneepads against his skin out of the corner of your eye. But you're not looking. You're not.

 

It isn't long before the conversation draws you back in- this Fukurodani guy is _loud_ \- and you do your best to follow along with the story. One of your friends nearby elbows you when the story turns to a situation you've found yourself in before, and you huff and push them back.

 

Fukurodani guy is… funny. He's got a lot of the guys in the group chuckling along with his story, but it's when he reaches the punchline that everybody really loses their shit. You're not afraid to laugh, and you lean on your friend as you attempt to catch your breath.

 

You can feel eyes on you again.

 

When you look, Tsukishima’s got his head tilted towards the ground. To anybody else, it looks like he might've nodded off, but you know better. He's looking at you out of the corner of his eye, flaxen eyelashes pulled low over simmering gold.

 

Fukurodani guy makes another comment, and you manage to choke on your next peal of laughter.

 

You know you look stupid, but it's worth the laugh you feel more than hear from the lanky boy next to you.

 

Kuroo leans in between you two to offer more watermelon.

 

You definitely do not turn the same color as the fruit you take from Nekoma’s captain. You are definitely not afraid that your teammates are going to figure you out soon.

 

“Oh c'mon, Tsukki,” Kuroo croons, waving the watermelon in front of his face. The nickname sounds odd on his tongue. “I thought you loved fruit? Strawberries are your favorite, right?”

 

Tsukishima squinches his face up, bending away from Kuroo, trying to keep the fruit off of his nose.

 

“Watermelons aren't fruit. They're berries.” The blond huffs. “Stop- get that out of my face,” he complains, pushing at Kuroo’s knees.

 

You snatch the slice from Kuroo with your free hand, and both boys stare incredulously at you when you take a bite out of the red fruit.

 

Berry. Whatever.

 

Kuroo just laughs, scampering away, and Tsukishima stares at the slice in your hand with something lost in his wide eyed stare.

 

“What?” You ask, taking a bite from the slice in your other hand. You feel kind of triumphant, a piece of watermelon in each hand. “If you wanted it, you should've taken it.”

 

He frowns, pushing glasses that aren't the sports goggles you usually see him with further up his nose.

 

“Too bad,” you huff, hiding a smile behind a slice. “They're pretty good.”

 

That's when he snatches his water bottle off the ground and stands abruptly, only making you crane your neck for a moment before he slips away.

 

You wonder if you've upset him.

 

( _It was just a piece of watermelon_.)

 

You decide you don't really care.

 

That afternoon your team wins a couple more matches. It's got you all in high spirits, especially since it's so early in the season and you're doing _this_ well.

 

You especially feel the high, since coach has had you on the court a lot today. It feels good, even though you've got little spots of red blooming all over the inside of your arms from the battered and burst blood vessels beneath.

 

Some of your team heads back to the room to shower and cool down, but others stay in the gyms for extra practice in the open hours before curfew.

 

You're stuck between a nice shower and thoughts of a triumphant smirk after Karasuno's second win against your team this afternoon. Will you rest or will you practice?

 

The drive to improve wins out over your exhaustion, and you find yourself roped into a group with some Johzenji guys, another giant from Nekoma, and Karasuno's firecracker.

 

The giant's name is Haiba Lev, and he's two meters tall. Karasuno's firecracker is Hinata Shouyou, and he's a little over a meter and a half.  It's comical, watching them interact, and they keep a smile on your face even when you're short of breath.

 

“Hey,” Hinata calls to you out of the blue while you're running suicides. “You're not all red.”

 

You can't help but stare back in confusion, and he quickly gestures to his face before he drops down for a round of pushups. When he next pops up, he adds, “You usually get really red during our matches. I thought you were one of those people that gets red when they exercise.”

 

It occurs to you what he's talking about, and are not in the least surprised when you flush a bright red as if to prove his point.

 

“Oh.” Hinata hums, bright brown eyes watching your cheeks. “Well, who is it?”

 

You splutter immediately, claiming you don't know what he means, and rush off into your next bout of sprints. Hinata catches up almost easily, as if he could run for three more days.

 

“I'm right, aren't I?” He grins widely, and you refuse to meet his eyes. “It's someone on my team?”

 

You hiss at him to lower his voice, looking around in case anyone heard. Hinata scoffs at your secrecy.

 

“Dude, half the guys here are gay. The other half are bi.” Hinata chuckles. “There's only like four guys here that are straight.”

 

Okay, that's only half of your concerns.

 

“So?” He demands, holding your knees while you do sit ups. “Who is it?”

 

You mumble that it's no one, that it's not a crush, every denial you can think of, but Hinata just nods sagely as if he's heard every excuse.

 

“Don't make me start guessing!” Hinata threatens, the sunny smile on his face making it hard for you to tell if it's a legitimate threat or not. “Last year, everyone was crushing on Daichi,” he begins, thinking to himself. “Is it Ennoshita? Our new captain?”

 

“Who?” Is your response, and Hinata just nods.

 

“Not him, then. Are you into Tanaka? He's pretty buff, I could see guys being attracted to him…” Hinata trails off, as if he's never considered this before. You shake your head frantically.

 

“Please don't guess.” You implore, returning the gesture and holding his knees when it's his turn to do sit ups.

 

“It's not Kageyama, is it?” Hinata’s face scrunches up in an expression that you're not sure is disgust or jealousy. “Tell me it's not Kageyama.”

 

You shake your head no and release his knees, allowing him to stand and run with you.

 

“Well, whoever it is, good luck!” Hinata decides, shooting you a thumbs up and pushing ahead of you to catch up with Lev.

 

You're left to marinate in your own embarrassment and hope the flush fades from your face soon.

 

After another couple hours of the older students pushing you to improve, you drop out, waving to the others as you head to the showers and drop lovingly onto your own futon. Finally clean and warm, you fall asleep as soon as your eyes close.

 

The next morning, your muscles are _screaming_ , but that's not much different from most other days, so you throw yourself into your first match without hesitation. You definitely breathe a sigh of relief when you find out your team isn't up against Karasuno until after lunch.

 

The morning is a half success. You're happy for your two wins, but your punishment drills after your two losses are hitting you extra hard. The extra practice last night is making it hard to pick your feet up high enough off the ground, and you stumble more times than you'd like to admit.

 

At lunch you don't even bother to join the group you usually listen to, opting instead to slump uselessly against the nearest sturdy structure you can find. The fence rattles noisily as you slide to the ground against it, but you can barely find the energy to care.

 

Several of your teammates ask if you're okay as they pass by, and even though you nod they bring you cold water bottles and a plate of food. This is kind of them, considering you were planning on skipping lunch in the hopes of appeasing your sore muscles and avoiding any nausea for later matches.

 

Luckily, you're not dizzy or mentally out of it in any way, so most of your teammates trust you to be safe without too much hovering on their part. After they shower you in concerned attention, you're on your own again. Your lunch is devoured in minutes, your body screaming for some more fuel to operate your poor muscles.

 

Perhaps skipping lunch wouldn't have been the _best_ idea.

 

While you're nursing your third water bottle, you spot Kuroo and wave. Your smile is tired, but it's sincere.

 

Even though he betrayed you yesterday.

 

Kuroo’s eyes light up when he sees you, and he waves frantically in your direction. You tilt your head, craning your neck to see whose shirt he's pulling on so avidly while he waves.

 

Maybe it's Lev. You got to know him pretty well yesterday.

 

The crowd of bodies parts, allowing Kuroo to yank Tsukishima to his side by the collar of his shirt.

 

You take back your sincere smile. Kuroo has betrayed you once again.

 

“Hey!” Kuroo calls, dragging the blond with him as he approaches you. Tsukishima lets Kuroo manhandle him, though he scowls the entire time. Long fingers manage to pluck two skewers of fruit from an unsuspecting manager, and Tsukishima smiles apologetically at the tiny girl he's spooked while Kuroo drags him away.

 

“How's it going? How's your third day of camp?” Kuroo croons eagerly, hovering over you. You crane your neck to look at them- they're both giants, and you're still sitting on the ground.

 

“Exhausting.” Is your honest answer. “But I feel like I'm getting better. We'll get you eventually,” you threaten, pointing wearily in what could be either players’ direction since you haven't beaten Nekoma or Karasuno yet. Your entire stance is so exhausted that you're sure they can't take you seriously.

 

When Tsukishima snickers around a slice of strawberry, your suspicions are confirmed.

 

“Good luck!” Kuroo offers sincerely. “Your team isn't bad at all this year- with a little fine tuning, you'll definitely give us a run for our money.” He promises, as if this negates the obvious fact that Nekoma is far better than your team right now.

 

You nod wearily, and Kuroo eyes you with sudden concern.

 

“Man, you weren't kidding when you said you were exhausted, huh?”

 

You're a little too tired to nod eagerly, so you settle for two emphatic chin bobs.

 

“What'd they have you doing yesterday? Lev’s a little worn down too.” Nekoma’s captain mused, squinting at you in concern.

 

You list off the multitudes of exercises you suffered through the night before, and Kuroo hums, understanding.

 

“What about Hinata?” You ask, turning tired eyes to Tsukishima. “Or is he just a constant stream of energy that never gets tired?”

 

“The latter,” Tsukishima replies immediately. “He never stops.”

 

That gets a tired laugh from you. “Everything hurts.” You admit, wiping your mouth with the edge of your shirt.

 

You don't miss the two pairs of eyes that skim over the skin you expose, and you're fighting back a blush when you let the fabric fall back over your stomach.

 

“See, Tsukki, that's what real hard work looks like.” Kuroo gestures vaguely in your direction, and Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

 

“I work plenty hard.” Is the petulant mumble you hear in return.

 

Kuroo laughs, then grabs the empty skewer from Tsukishima's hand. “Guess you were hungry today, eh? Lemme throw this away for you.”

 

Kuroo's gone in almost an instant, and you blink a couple times at the empty space he left as if it's going to bring him back.

 

Tsukishima towers above you, eyeing you with something you're guessing is hesitation. You finish your water bottle and crumple it in your hands, wrinkling your nose at the sound it makes as it rattles in protest.

 

There's a few moments of silence where you're scrabbling for something to say, your heart pounding wildly in your chest while you hold Tsukishima’s searching gaze. Your pulse is scrabbling wildly against your throat, and you wish you had something else to drink to swallow it back down.

 

You're not sure if you've been saved or interrupted when the coaches start calling for their players, drawing the crowds of athletes back into the gyms.

 

Tsukishima turns on his heels immediately, a fruit skewer still clutched in his hand. You sigh, an opportunity wasted, and begin to push up to stand and follow.

 

The movement fails, however, when your tired muscles give up, sending you crashing back against the fence, the metal rattling noisily in alarm at your sudden system failure.

 

To his credit, Tsukishima turns around with a look of alarm as well. You try to look less pitiful than you know you already do when you reach out, imploring for his help. You're low-key expecting to be completely ignored, considering how uninterested he is in Kuroo’s antics, and are pleasantly surprised when he walks back to you in response to your request.

 

Your fingers definitely do not tingle when they wrap around a calloused palm, and you definitely do not get goosebumps when pale fingers return the favor.

 

You definitely do not let out an _embarrassingly_ loud groan when you're yanked to your feet, and you stumble forwards once he lets go of you.

 

Ignoring the faint blush you can feel rising to your cheeks, you shake out your limbs. It's mostly the prolonged period of immobility that has them groaning and straining, so you've gotta coax them back into action before your next match.

 

Tsukishima is closely examining his remaining skewer, refusing to look at you. You're suddenly just as interested as he is in the fruit, craving a little sweetness before the hell that is sure to come your way in the next few hours.

 

“Want it?” He offers, tilting it your way. “They're pretty good.”

 

You reach for it, but the blank expression on his face twists into a smirk when he yanks it back, pulling off a grape with his teeth before you can react.

 

“If you wanted one, you should've gotten one.” The blond taunts, golden eyes alight with mischief as he purposefully turns your earlier teasing back on you.

 

You grumble curses under your breath and push at his shoulder in retaliation, cruelly satisfied when he drops the piece of fruit he'd intended to eat next. He shoots you an indignant glare, and you push him again just to spite him.

 

It's his fault for being so skinny and easy to jostle. You see now how Kuroo managed to drag him around with such ease.

 

When Tsukishima stumbles this time, he turns towards you so he can smugly finish off the skewer while you watch. You make sure your expression is (jokingly) pained, and he surprises you with a genuine smile.

 

“Good luck today,” you blurt before you part ways, and your own face betrays you with sudden heat.

 

The smile on Tsukishima’s face twists into something more wry, perhaps smug, and he fixes you with those bright eyes. Your feet lock into place for a moment, fully surrendering to the calculating scan you're subjected to.

 

“You too.” He finally replies before turning away, cleanly depositing his empty skewer in a trash bag as he passes by, that smug smirk still on his face even when he rejoins his teammates.

 

You barely have a moment to yourself before your team catches up to you. Your setter, the wiliest of the bunch, claps a hand on your shoulder and fixes you with a look you know well. It's the look he sets on people before he tries to weasel something out of them, whether it's extra practice, buying him a drink from the vending machine, or getting them to tell him something.

 

“Say,” he drawls, smiling a slow, easy smile. “Are you and Karasuno's middle blocker friends?”

 

You're spluttering and stammering immediately- though to your credit, the rest of your body appears calm and collected, the only sign of nervousness spilling incessantly from your mouth. Your setter laughs, and you know your cover has already been blown.

 

“I don't think I've ever seen him smile,” someone else on the team notes, and you're remembering the easy turn of thin lips before you can help yourself. The image doesn't help the blush on your cheeks, and the blush doesn't help your situation.

 

“I didn't know you had a crush on Tsukishima.” Your setter says the sentence you've been dreading, and your team clamours excitedly over each other for an energy charged moment while you shrink into your hands. You know you're bright red.

 

“I've never seen you so shy!” One of the first years crows, leaning into you to peel a hand away from your face.

 

You glare daggers at them, shrinking further into yourself.

 

“Well damn,” one of your senpais remarks thoughtfully. “Now we have to crush Karasuno.”

 

“ _Please_.” You groan, feeling like you're going to melt from the heat of your own face. “It would make my day.”

 

This seems to effectively lift the attention off of you, and your team eases into a discussion about your next match.

 

When the match against Karasuno rolls around, your team holds to their promise. Everyone is oddly serious, attention sharpened like a blade, honed into your opponents.

 

Even Karasuno's captain notices the different atmosphere from your earlier matches against them. The handshake between your captain and theirs is tense, and their captain regards yours with a guarded sort of interest.

 

The match starts with a shrill whistle that grates on your nerves. You grimace and shrug, letting the sound roll off of you.

 

Maybe you should admit to having crushes more often, if it motivates your team like this. Within the first ten minutes, your team has scored three points and blocked _five_. Karasuno has varying reactions to your sudden lead, ranging from fear (from the first years) to irritation (guess who) to intense concentration.

 

You're not invulnerable, they score three points back in no time, but your team has grabbed two more. The tug of war has begun, and the powerful presence of the challenge hanging in the air is pushing everybody harder than they've ever gone.

 

If anything, Tsukishima’s usual glare has kicked into another gear. When he blocks one of your aces’ spikes with a sharp _snap_ of the ball against his hands, he lands with something like a growl and stares down one of the other first years.

 

Who proceeds to cower away with a yelp and shoot a terrified glance over at you (because _of course_ you were watching). You look away quickly, but Tsukishima's eyes follow the first year’s and burn holes in the side of your head.

 

It's not long before you're face to face with him.

 

You take a breath, steel yourself.

 

You're not… You're _not_ afraid of him.

 

You look up- sufficiently pepped by your own pep talk- and meet a shade of saffron that seems to bore into your very soul.

 

You look down again, fighting down the blush that threatens to interrupt the scheduled showing of color on your face.

 

 _Ah, that's right. You're not_ afraid _of him. You're_ attracted _to him. That's the problem._

 

You choose instead to stare past him, and it works (for now). You can still appreciate and admire him, but you can't quite see the glare that threatens to light you aflame.

 

You spend most of the game doing this, and you swear to all of the stars his gaze never leaves you.

 

The first game goes to your team.

 

When the whistle blows and announces the end of the first round, the court stands in stunned silence for a couple moments. It breaks when the bald one (is _that_ Tanaka? The one Hinata thought you liked?) shouts something like a challenge at your team. Hinata echoes, pumped up from the adrenaline of the match.

 

Ever unaffected by taunts and threats, your team simply turns back towards your coach to prepare for the next round.

 

Perhaps it's a good thing you listened closely to the halftime strategy meet.

 

You do very well in the second round, at least in the game. Concerning your earlier dilemma (the one with the hot blond on the other side of the net), you make many mistakes.

 

You make your first mistake when you successfully dump the ball almost directly over Tsukishima's shoulder. This is when you chance a glance at him, pride and triumph laced into your smile.

 

Tsukishima frowns back at you, brows furrowed low over his eyes, clearly upset. The smile slips off of your face in surprise when you see the pink dusting his cheeks.

 

Perhaps this is Tsukishima's first mistake too.

 

Your second mistake occurs soon after your setter makes eye contact with you, giving you the signal for a move you've performed maybe _twice_ on the court. You've done it a million times in practice, but that's _different._

 

When the ball arcs from your setter’s fingertips, three of your teammates run forwards.

 

You're the one to touch the ball, spiking it over the net with a solid _click_ as it hits the ground.

 

You're absolutely delighted, eyes widening in disbelief as they track the ball that rolls untouched across the court for a moment.

 

Tsukishima's ears are beginning to turn pink.

 

(He was watching you.)

 

Your team piles on top of you before you can look closer, ruffling your hair and clapping you on the shoulder. They're proud of you, and the feeling courses through your veins like caffeine.

 

Your third mistake closely resembles the first one. Except that the stakes were much higher.

 

Your team has one more point to make before you win against _Karasuno._

 

Your setter makes eye contact with you again, signaling you, and suddenly there is tremendous pressure on you.

 

Pressure from the knowledge that you could potentially make the next point, if you don't screw this up. Pressure from the eyes that have _not stopped watching you_ , that are too keen not to have noticed the exchange between you and your setter.

 

When Tsukishima mutters to the tall boy next to him, you know you've been caught.

 

It's too late to turn back, the ball's already in the air and you and the wing spiker are running forwards to receive it. Tsukishima is already glaring at you, and you're already touching the ball.

 

There's a wall in front of you.

 

You know two things.

 

One, Tsukishima Kei has previously blocked one of the strongest aces in high school volleyball history. You know because you saw it with your own eyes.

 

Two, in a face to face, hand to hand battle with Tsukishima Kei, you have succeeded four out of five times. You know this because you were there, and you'll count four out of five as a majority.

 

You come to a conclusion in a split second and aim for Tsukishima's left hand with as much accuracy and power as your inexperienced first year self can.

 

Time seems to move in slow motion.

 

You're intently focused on bandaged fingers for much too long.

 

Even after they bend backwards.

 

Even after your shot hits the ground behind them.

 

You're startled out of your trance when your team practically whisks you off the ground in celebration, your teammates unusually rowdy while they congratulate you and cheer their collective win.

 

Your setter looks like he wants to comment on the same thought you had earlier concerning your team's concentration, but he only smiles and pats you on the head.

 

The break between this match and the next is blessedly free of punishment drills.

 

Your punishment is not physical this round.

 

No, it comes in the form of a yellow glare so intense that you can feel it across the gym from where Karasuno is running diving drills.

 

You quickly learned that you cannot watch, because the flex of the (sparse) muscles in a certain blond’s arms are impressive enough to get the blood rushing to your face. And perhaps somewhere else a little more… embarrassing.

 

Tsukishima is so obviously glaring at you that your entire team keeps asking if he's okay, if the win is gonna ruin your chances with him, if you're ever going to stop blushing-

 

You cut them all off with multiple pleas for silence, chancing a glance over at Karasuno’s middle blocker in the process.

 

When you find the same stare leveled on you- damn near unwavering at this point, especially as their diving drills finish- you dare to lift your chin in a challenge, staring back in return.

 

_Meet me at your best. See me as a true opponent._

 

In the chaos of the rotation to your team's next match, someone grabs your jersey and drags you out of the crowd.

 

To your _ultimate_ surprise, a skinny, blond, giant is towering over you.

 

“What the hell was _that?_ ” He hisses, his frown like a slash across his face.

 

You can only splutter in a mix of surprise and confusion, trying not to focus on the fact that you're about eye level with his mouth when he towers over you like this.

 

“Your entire team hounded me like I had a target on my chest for the whole game,” he huffed through clenched teeth, crossing his arms over the number on his jersey as if the target was still there. “What did you tell them?”

 

“I _told_ you we'd get you eventually.” Is your simple response- and the moment would've been so much better if his jaw dropped, but you settle for the way his eyebrows shoot high.

 

You slip away before he can wheedle anything else out of you, scampering to safety within the confines of your team huddle.

 

“Have a good rendezvous with your boyfriend?” Your setter asks with a sharp grin.

 

You squawk, offended.

 

“He's not- _not_ my boyfriend!” You stammer emphatically over the giggling of your teammates. “He barely knows my name!”

 

One of your senpais chuckles under their breath. “After that match, I'm sure he's noticed more than you think.”

 

You're not sure what _that's_ supposed to mean, so you manage to blanch and blush at the same time. It concerns your senpais so much that they force you to drink another water bottle before the next match.

 

You're on such a high from the last win that you don't even mind the burpees you're forced to do after you lose the next match.

 

After your fourth and final match of the afternoon, it's finally free time.

 

You were 100% planning to jump in the showers and go straight to bed. Drive to improve be damned, your body _hurts._

 

You _were._

 

Until Kuroo approaches you.

 

Now, you've trusted Kuroo before. You know what comes of this. You feel justified in trying to escape to the bathrooms, but he nabs you in the doorway and drags you in a neat semicircle to stand face to face with him.

 

“Hello,” he greets placidly, as if he hasn't repeatedly ruined your plans for your giant crush on Tsukishima Kei to go unnoticed. “I need to ask you something, if that's alright…?”

 

He trails off in wait of your answer, and you let out a sigh of resignation before you gesture for him to go on.

 

His question is not what you're expecting. It must show on your face, because he laughs and scratches the back of his neck rather sheepishly.

 

“I know, it's kind of daunting.” He agrees. “I promise it won't be that bad. You look like a good kid. Hardworking. Honest.”

 

You nod. These descriptions are true.

 

“See, I'm a third year now, and I want to leave my mark. I want to do my best for my kohais, no matter what school they go to.” He informs you. “That goes for Tsukishima too. He's pretty cool, don't you think?”

 

You don't bother to hide your blush, because you're pretty sure Kuroo knows already. You nod.

 

“I think so too! But he's… shy.” Kuroo chews on the word, like it's not the one he wants, but it will do. “That's why I need you to make the first move.”

 

You're still, staring at him while you consider his proposition.

 

“Whaddya say? Are you in?” He presses, raising one pitch black eyebrow.

 

With a sigh, knowing this will be your downfall, you nod.

 

Kuroo cheers and grabs you by the hand, chattering excitedly to you while he guides you to your destination.

 

He drags you to a gym you didn't know existed, and you try not to dig your heels in too much when you immediately catch sight of Tsukishima upon entering the brightly lit area.

 

“What- why did you bring _him?_ ” Tsukishima immediately hisses, eyes narrowed in suspicion while he eyes you.

 

Kuroo shoves you in front of him, planting you in between him and Tsukishima's accusatory glare.

 

“Your kohai has something to ask you!” Kuroo chirps, grinning widely.

 

There's another person in the room, another student, you think, setting up the net for whatever Kuroo plans to practice. They stop, curiosity piqued, and turn an interested gaze onto the scene unfolding in front of them.

 

You press your fingers together, hesitantly meeting Tsukishima's stare. He seems to be doing his best to tower over you, and you're suddenly very very nervous.

 

“W- would you-” you stammer, feeling the blush that you can't seem to get rid of around him rise to your cheeks again.

 

To your surprise, Tsukishima blushes too. Wide yellow eyes dart wildly between you and Kuroo, as if he's simultaneously demanding to know what's going on and who approved this idea.

 

You swallow around the fear clogging the words in your throat, gathering the meager scraps of your courage.

 

“Would- would you please teach me how to block like you?” You manage in a giant rush of words, bowing only because it breaks your tentative eye contact.

 

Tsukishima chokes, clearly taken aback.

 

“ _What?_ ” He spits, the darting of his eyes between you and Kuroo growing even wilder, if possible.

 

“Well, you heard him,” the one setting up the net comments, reaching up to hook the netting. “Will you teach him what you know?”

 

You silently thank the stars for this beautiful man and his patience and apathy and all of the things he's doing to diffuse this situation.

 

“I was at the Shiratorizawa match- you blocked Ushijima!” You cry, your inner fan rearing in excitement. “ _Ushijima Wakatoshi!!!_ ” You repeat, and you're sure your eyes are nearly sparkling in awe by now.

 

Tsukishima splutters- not unlike you continue to find yourself doing- and looks helplessly over your head at Kuroo.

 

“C'mon, Tsukki,” Kuroo pleads. “This is an important part of volleyball. You're a second year now- be a good senpai! You have to learn how to pass your knowledge on!”

 

Tsukishima still doesn't look convinced. The beautiful man that's now finished setting up the net puts his hands on his hips.

 

“Tsukishima, don't you know that the best way to make sure you really know something is to teach it to someone else?”

 

When Tsukishima deflates, your thanking of the stars increases tenfold. Bless this beautiful man.

 

“Fine.” Tsukishima sighs. “I'll teach you.”

 

You keep your celebrating internal and shake his hand.

 

You also introduce yourself to Beautiful Man, whose real name turns out to be Akaashi Keiji.

 

You spend the rest of the night _entirely_ too close to Tsukishima Kei. He circles your wrists and holds them high, showing you exactly how far apart to hold your hands when you block. When you block a couple spikes from Kuroo- blocking beside _Tsukishima Kei_ \- the blond stops you to adjust your fingers, sending thrills through your system that you hope he doesn't see.

 

Kuroo is smiling like an idiot the entire time, something that Tsukishima comments on in a biting tone. You can't help but notice how insincere the stab is, but Kuroo replies with a vengeful spike.

 

You talk with the older students while you play. You learn that Kuroo is planning on majoring in chemistry when he heads to uni next fall, and that Akaashi doesn't know what he's going to get a degree in yet. He does, however, know where he's living.

 

“With Koutarou, right?” Kuroo chirps when the subject arises. Akaashi turns a beautiful shade of red and nods. “Cute.” Kuroo teases, pinching at the setter’s cheeks. Akaashi swats him away, and the blush keeps him company for another couple minutes.

 

You learn that the aforementioned ‘Koutarou' is Bokuto Koutarou, Fukurodani’s captain from the previous year.

 

You learn that Tsukishima is brilliant, but can't communicate to save his life. If not for his physical correction of your form, you're not sure you'd know what you're doing wrong. He tends to growl and grunt in dissatisfaction instead of just telling you what he doesn't approve of.

 

Luckily, you've always been an astute observer, so you're beginning to catalogue which noises mean what. Kuroo is doing his best to chip away at Tsukishima's lack of communication skills, encouraging him- or flat out demanding of him- to use his words and _tell_ you what to do. Tsukishima is steadily getting better- which means that by the end of practice he's grudgingly speaking to you in short bursts.

 

When you part ways, waving gratefully to Kuroo and Akaashi, hand whipping back and forth in the cool night air, you feel a familiar gaze pressing on your shoulders.

 

“Thank you, Tsukishima!” You cry, waving to him as well.

 

The pressure lifts off of you.

 

You smile.

 

Your shower and clean clothes are just as refreshing as the night before’s, but when you lay down on your futon you quickly realize that tonight will not be like last night.

 

It's like your earlier exhaustion has vanished.

 

You're _buzzed_ , like you've mixed coffee and an energy drink or two and just _shotgunned_ that shit.

 

With a heavy sigh, you put a hoodie on and slip outside.

 

There's only one thing you can do.

 

You run.

 

It starts with a careful lap around the building, your inexperienced first year nerves checking around every turn to make sure there's no one out patrolling. After the first lap is clear, you ease into a jog, letting your nerves calm a little bit.

 

You're immediately spooked by a large shadow, which you follow around a corner and find…

 

Tsukishima Kei.

 

Fate has it in for you, you're sure.

 

The giant is just standing there, leaned against the building, hands shoved in his pockets. You wonder if he fell asleep there until you notice the headphones in his ears.

 

He's ever so slightly turned away from you, and he doesn't hear your first couple footsteps over his music.

 

You decide the only viable option is to scare the shit out of him.

 

A push on the shoulder as you pass by does just that, and you snicker with glee when he jumps a mile and nearly falls to the ground. He looks like a deer in headlights until he catches sight of you running backwards, your tongue stuck out in a taunt.

 

Wide eyes, pale yellow in the moonlight, narrow in an instant when he registers who you are. He crosses his arms and leans back against the building, glaring at you while you retreat, chest heaving up and down as he catches his breath.

 

You take another lap around the building.

 

Tsukishima is prepared for your return when you round the corner again, and he glares at you the entire time you're in his line of sight. You can't help but laugh your way around the next corner, immensely amused.

 

Your fourth lap has drained you enough that the exhaustion is beginning to seep back into your bones.

 

When you round the corner this time, you slow to a halt beside Tsukishima.

 

He eyes you, tugging out a headphone while you lean against the wall next to him.

 

“...weren't you dying of exhaustion at lunch today?” He queries slowly, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

 

You nod once.

 

It's silent for a moment.

 

“You don't ever get…” you trail off, shaking an arm for clarification. “Like, you just gotta _move_?”

 

The fact that the eyebrow remains raised gives you your answer.

 

“I couldn't sleep. Had to convince my body I was tired.” You admit, looking off over the field spread out in front of the gym. “Today was just… _good._ ”

 

Tsukishima suppresses a snicker, and you look over to him, attention snagged by the noise.

 

“Today in the gym, I thought-” Tsukishima stops suddenly, looking down at you suddenly.

 

“What?” You hum, curious. “You thought what? That Kuroo’s a nerd? That Akaashi is really obviously in love with Bokuto? That I made a fool of myself?” You list off, and his eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement. “That's what I thought.” You relent, leaning back again.

 

“I'd agree with all but one of those. You did fine today.” He assures you, but it's low, whispered under his breath. If it wasn't silent out here, you wouldn't have heard it.

 

“What'd you think, then?”

 

The question hangs in the air.

 

Tsukishima clearly weighs his options. He settles on one.

 

“I thought you were going to confess to me.” He admits, voice carefully measured and even.

 

Your head whips up to meet his gaze in an instant. You know you look shell shocked- your eyes are comically wide, and your mouth may or may not be hanging open.

 

You take a breath, rearrange your expression.

 

_Chill out._

 

“What would you have done if I had?” You ask evenly in return, proud of the way you don't stutter at all.

 

It's Tsukishima's turn to blush, and you're surprised.

 

“I'd say that we don't know each other well enough to date.” He replies, and you're surprised at how steady his voice is. “Relationships built on face value alone are doomed to fail.”

 

“Cynical.” You note, and his blush spreads to his ears despite the way he scowls at you. “I like it.”

 

You don't clarify if that's directed at the dating strategy or his mannerisms.

 

You take a chance.

 

“What would you do if I said I'd like to get to know you?”

 

It's so quiet. Tsukishima looks stricken, so you add: “Hypothetically.” To ease the tension.

 

That drags a wry smile from him, and he turns to look down the bridge of his nose at you.

 

“I'd ask for your contact information.” He replies slowly, his grin easing across his face with the more confidence he gains. “Though I don't guarantee any quick responses on my part. Hypothetically.”

 

You dig your phone out of your pocket and extend it towards him, wordlessly.

 

He takes it, but only after staring for a moment, that sly grin still plastered to his face as if he's taunting you.

 

You're quiet while you return the phone back to your pocket. The two of you stand in silence, staring out at the field together.

 

The moon is full, and the field glitters with its light. It almost feels too bright to be past curfew.

 

Belatedly you realize Tsukishima's name includes the characters for ‘moon', and you're standing in the moonlight with him. What a moment.

 

_All or nothing, you suppose._

 

“Hypothetically,” you speak up, catching his attention again. The eyebrow is raised again, waiting for you to continue.

 

You clear your throat, blushing brightly.

 

“What would you do if I asked for a kiss?”

 

You're not certain, but his lips _might've_ curled into a smile.

 

“Well,” his voice is surprisingly low, and his jacket rustles as he moves to lean over you, trapping you against the wall. “I would probably kiss you.” He murmurs, quiet, and you can feel his breath on your lips he's so close.

 

“But,” he adds, leaning away with a sharp grin. “That's purely hypothetical.”

 

You huff, resisting the urge to cross your arms like a child throwing a tantrum.

 

When he turns to leave, lifting the headphone as if he's going to press it back into his ear, you panic.

 

“Will you kiss me?” You nearly yelp the request, like it's been kicked out of you.

 

He's back beside you in a second, and you've nearly got the wind knocked out of you by how close he managed to get himself in that instant.

 

“Probably,” is whispered against your lips- the little _shit_ -

 

But that's as far as the gears in your mind manage to turn, because everything comes to a screeching halt when he presses his lips to yours.

 

It's… nice.

 

You only have to tilt your head a little bit, his lips are warm against yours, and those glasses aren't as unwieldy as you thought they'd be.

 

When you part after a moment, you think that's all, that he's going to leave you after one kiss. That's normal, that's expected.

 

He huffs out something against your lips and presses back in for a second, a third kiss. They're equally as warm, equally as comfortable.

 

When he presses back in for a fourth kiss, his hands land delicately on your shoulders, gentle and hesitant, like you might push him away for daring to touch you. You respond by weaving your fingers into the little curls at the nape of his neck, gently pressing your fingertips into the base of his skull, encouraging him to stay.

 

He doesn't, leaning away after the fifth press of his lips to yours, but his hands don't leave your shoulders.

 

“You're so cool, Tsukishima,” you break the silence with something teasing and maybe sarcastic. “Kissing a first year past curfew? So cool.”

 

“Shut up.” He grumbles, hands sliding from your shoulders to shove back into his pockets.

 

You use the hand you still have on the back of his neck for leverage when you raise up on your toes to steal a sixth kiss from lips that are beginning to curl down in a frown.

 

“So cool.” You reiterate against his mouth, stroking once down the back of his neck before you let your hand fall back to your side. You don't miss the shiver that runs down his spine.

 

And if that wasn't the best night of your life, you don't know what is.

 

It's only a couple days after training camp that your phone buzzes with the first message.

 

Of course you messaged him first. You were replaying the kiss you'd managed to steal before you left when a thought occurred you on the bus ride home. You'd never typed faster.

 

_You:_

_If Hinata asks about me, pretend you don't know who I am please_

_He knows I'm crushing on someone at Karasuno but he doesn't know who_

 

The response comes soon after you finished your first not-training-camp practice.

 

_Tsukishima:_

_any reason in particular as to why he needed my opinion on who the hottest guys on the team are_

_“purely for research” he told me_

 

Then, soon after:

 

_Tsukishima:_

_i didn't know your name was “research”_

 

You're blushing immediately, but the simple fact that he responded makes your day.

 

_You:_

_S2G I didn't ask_

_His first three guesses were Ennoshita, Tanaka, and a guy named Kageyama that he got all upset about when he thought I might like him_

 

It's later in the day when he responds.

 

_Tsukishima:_

_no, ew, and wow, gay_

_who could you possibly be crushing on, if not ka-gay-ama_

 

You roll your eyes but play along anyways.

 

_You:_

_Some guy_

_Tall, blond, extra salty_

_You've probably never heard of him_

_Told me to get to know him first_

 

You're surprised at an immediate response, and pull your phone from your pocket incredulously.

 

_Tsukishima:_

_better get on it then_

_how do fries at McD’s sound_

_(don't judge me, i’m broke)_

 

_You:_

_Sounds tall, blond, and extra salty_

_Consider me sold_

_When?_

**Author's Note:**

> Ending this fic was so hard, tbh
> 
> Also, there is nothing you can do to convince me that Kuroo isn't the biggest Tsukishima stan.
> 
> If you have something to say, COMMENT. @ ME IN PERSON.


End file.
